P s 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



Shelf 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



Liil, 



A l^LAY IN FOUR A.CT©. 



REAL LIFE. 



BY 

MAUDE ALLEN. 



(For amateurs.) Act second, Dennis McGuire's Cottage, is com- 
^ plete in one act. Characters required : two ma^, 

H[ three female and two children. 



3 



PRICE, TWENTY CENTS^^-. oJ -^ 

^/EB 221894 

CINCINNATI: / / 2^o3 ^ 

ROBERT CLARKE & CO. 

1891. 



t- 



T543r 



Copyright, 1894 



m p©?/r p. (Hn A?r'njMivjA'r: -^IMQ' 



THE SUMMER BOARDER. 

A PLAY IN FOUR ACTS. 



COSTUMES. 

The usual yachting and tennis costumes, worn at sea-side 
resorts. . 

CHARACTERS. 

Miss Daisy Comstock, young Frank Livingston, a New 

sister. Yorker. 

Miss Kate Comstock, an old Dennis McGctire. 

maid. Mrs. Betty McGuire. 

Mrs. Wycliffe. Jerushy McGuire, ^ ~, ... 

Miss Flossie Wycliffe. Johnnie McGuire, j ^ ^®°' 

Dr. Stanhope, D. D. Mrs. McCarty. 

Miss Grace Peninkton, summer Adonis Cruikshanks, the 

boarder. groom. 

Miss Dorothea, or Dot Mon- Maria Sophia Pearson Steb- 

TAGUE, a Southern girl. bins, the bride. 

SCENE. 

A handsome parlor of a summer hotel, with large open 
doors and windows opening out on to a piazza, with the beach 
and harbor in full view. The water covered with yachts, 
row-boats, and a pier; the little ferry plying between the 
main land and the island. 

At the opening of the play, the orchestra will play " The Star 
Spangled Banner." When they come to the end of the verse, 
" That our flag is still there," the curtain commences to rise, 
showing two porters on the lawn (with their check-shirts on), 
hoisting the flag to the top of the flag-staff". (This is a morn- 
ing scene.) The guests, young and old, of the hotel, grouped 

(3) 



4 THE SUMMEK BOARDEPw. 

around on the lawn and piazza, watching them. Then, as the 
orchestra continues to play the chorus, it will make a beautiful 
tableau for the audience to look at, and also give the young 
sister a chance to watch the actions of her sister, to call forth 
the first remark. 

ACT I. 

Daisy Comstoch (always lounging round with a paper-covered 
novel). Well, sister Kate, what traps and plans have you laid 
for to-day? You look as if you were just brimful of busi- 
ness. 

Kate Comstoch. Why do you ask such a silly question ? I 
am sure I know of nothing different, or unusual, from other 
days. 

Daisy Comstoch. I should judge from your appearance, at 
present, they were otherwise. 

Kate Comstoch (thinking a moment and shrugging her 
shoulders). Well ! it does please me very much when I think 
how green with jealousy the Woods will turn when told by 
the Taylors who composed my clique here. 

Daisy Comstoch. Ha, ha, ha ! Is that the latest bulletin 
from you this morning? Decidedly rich, I must confess I 
Nevertheless, do you think people are so blind as not to see 
how you maneuver to get with them? You have to lie awake 
all night planning how you can secure them through the day. 
People can easily see through your tricks. Your efforts are 
so desperate you can not hide them. Take my word for it, 
these people would n't notice you if you w^ere to go to their 
towns. Now, you see if they do n't make excuses about ex- 
changing cards with you when they are going home. 

Kate Comstoch. Count me one ahead, then. I do not have 
to ask for them. I have always made it a point to collect the 
cards, and ring the door-bells, whenever we have been calling 
in the village; so, every card I particularly wanted, I just lost 
it in my pack, when I pretended to get one of mine. So, I 
have all their cards, and no thanks, or extra charge to them. 



THE SUMMER BOARDER. O 

Dai^ Comstoch. Then, you having the cards, their friends 
will never know that they have called. 

Kate Comstock. That 's their lookout, not mine. 

(Enter Mrs. and Flossie Wycliffe, glancing around the room.) 

Kate Comstock. I suppose you are looking where SHE is ? 

Flossie Wycliffe (laughing). Whom do you mean ? Miss 
Peninkton ? Mamma calls her " Silence on a camp-stool." I 
call her the "Sphynx." 

Kate Comstock. She moves in such a mysterious way that 
no one knows whence she came, or whither she goeth, or what 
she is doing. All the time I am in her presence I feel so un- 
comfortable — a sort of creeping, crawling sensation. She re- 
minds me of the owl the Irishman bought for a parrot. He 
said "it didn't say much, but it kept up a divil of a think- 
ing." 

Daisy Comstock. Mr. Livingston calls her his " Queen of 
Song." He says that she is simply divine. He believes she 
is a Gary or Abbott incognito. He always leaves the room 
when you are all slandering her. 

Enter Rev. Dr. Stanhope. Now, ladies, let us be more chari- 
table. You know we are often told that we may be enter- 
taining angels unawares, and it may prove true in her case . 
so, if she must have a nom de plume, I propose we all call her 
The Summer Boarder. 

Flossie Wycliffe. Pray do not give her another nom de 
plume. I think she is already decorated with one. Her own 
egotism would select the name of Grace, but in what bio- 
graphical or geographical dictionary can you find the name 
Pen-ink-ton ? 

Miss Comstock. I believe it is so; that angels do go 
through the world without registering; but, I fear. Doctor, 
you are like all the men, always ready to be taken in and 
gulled by any sharpers — in petticoats. 

Mrs. Wycliffe. Oh ! do let us get onto a more interesting 
subject. Doctor, how are you enjoying your vacation ? 



6 THE SUMMER BOARDER. 

Dr. Stanhope. Very much, indeed, Mrs. Wycliffe. I left 
all my cares and worriments at home for my parishioners to 
take charge of, and I have not only enjoyed, but have been 
very much benefited by my sojourn in this delightful place. 

Mrs. Wycliffe. I presume, as you are from an inland city, 
and deprived of the pleasure of boating, that you must be 
fond of driving. 

Bev. Dr. Stanhope. I am very fond of driving, provided 
I hold the reins ; but, with hired livery, just as you arrive at 
a beautiful point in the landscape, just at that very moment 
the Jehu will lash up the horses, and, if the sudden start has 
not unseated you, it has robbed you of all control over your 
nerves and vision. Yes, I am exceedingly fond of driving, 
but I must hold the reins. As for boating, you are aware that 
I spend most of my time on the water. 

Kate Comstock. You spent last evening on the water, did 
you not, doctor? As a party of us sat on the lawn, we could 
distinctly hear your merry crew singing, "A Life on the 
Ocean Wave ;" and, as we drank in the beautiful scene and 
listened to the soul-stirring music, one felt as if they had 
been wafted unconsciously to some higher sphere, and were 
permitted to commune not only with nature, but with na- 
ture's God. 

Rev. Dr. Stanhope. Last evening was a very remarkable 
evening ; there seemed to be a mighty, but unseen, presence 
hovering over us — an unaccountable feeling of awe, but stripped 
entirely of all traces of fear or terror — a weird, uncanny at- 
mosphere surrounded us. It was a Tam O'Shanter witch 
night, without the storm. As you remember, after the beau- 
tiful sunset, the night was very dark ; and, as our boat passed 
the " Point of Kocks," those high bowlders, towering over the 
water, looked like great land monsters, who, striding at will 
over hill and plain, had at last met an obstacle ; the restless 
waves that lashed their high sides, being charged with such 
an abundance of phosphorescence, seemed like fiery tongues 
from the great caldron below, threatening and warning them 



THE SUMMER BOARDER. 7 

from venturing nearer. We could outline them in the dark- 
ness leaning and hesitating, as if charmed and spellbound by 
the cringing and then springing fiery serpents at their feet. 
I could not help comparing them with the lives of our great 
and the lives of our ordinary men. The great men and the 
huge rocks make a great splash and commotion as they sink 
from us ; and the ordinary man's transition is as the pebbles 
we carelessly toss into the sea, — a little rise, a moment's no- 
tice, and what then ? the world moves on with workers and 
actors to fill their places and pilot us on to that unknown sta- 
tion where those who travel by land and those who travel by 
water will meet, and answer to their names and deeds re- 
corded in the "Book of Life." 

Mrs. Wydiffe. It was the most gorgeous sunset I ever wit- 
nessed. The brilliant coloring on land, and sea, and sky, 
made one harmonious whole. I could not but wish that, for 
one moment, I might have my spiritual eyes opened and see, 
as we are told, the myriads of heavenly beings, who, clad in 
robes of white, are ascending and descending the golden 
ladder reaching from earth to heaven ; and, with harps and 
cymbals in their hands, singing the loud hosannas of the re- 
deemed and purified. With this rich and beautifully-colored 
sunset canvas for a background, what a picture it would have 
been to feast the eyes upon. It would be a foretaste of the 
wondrous beauties in store for us in our Father's mansion not 
made by hands. 

Daisy Comstock Well, I don't know about that. The le- 
gends of my Sunday school told me that the streets were 
paved with gold, and the gates were of jasper and fine pearls. 
I should think there was a good deal of handiwork there. 
Why, if that is true, we will be going around with smoked 
goggles trying to find our friends and ancestors. My 
heaven is pictured with rippling streams and gurgling brooks, 
with birds and flowers. I want to chase the butterflies over 
grassy plains and wooded hills. I want to gather shells on 
the sandy beach, and have them tell me all the secrets of the 



THE SUMMER BOARDER. 

finny tribes. I want to wander, with my friends, in search 
of sea mosses, coral, sponges, and pearls. I want to hear the 
clatter of high stepping horses. I want to see the faithful 
and life-giving Sukey, lying on the green sward, chewing her 
cud. I want to frolic with Rover, and stroke the back of old 
Tabby as she purrs and blinks at the antics of her kittens. 
This is the heaven of happy homes I want to go to. 

Rev. Dr. Stanhope. Bravo, my young friend, bravo! You 
are quite a philosopher, I see. You want all the beautiful 
and useful things in this carnal world spiritualized. 

Daisy Comstoch. Just so. Don't you think it would be 
delightful ? 

Rev. Dr. Stanhope. Indeed I do; and I sincerely hope 
your wish may be gratified ; and, whenever I can secure a 
pass, I shall come and visit you on your happy hunting- 
grounds; and then we can have the innate satisfaction of 
relegating the smoked goggles to the inhabitants of this 
mundane sphere. 

Kate Comstoch. I wonder what became of Dot Montague, 

1 have not seen her this morning ; perhaps she has gone to 
chase the butterflies over wooded hills and grassy plains. 

Mrs. Wycliffe. Mr. Livingstone and she constitute a " com- 
mittee of two " to go on a picnic. I heard them arranging 
their plans on the upper piazza last evening. They both 
pledged great secresy. Miss Montague told him to be on the 
alert, and not let you, Miss Kate, see him, for, if you did, you 
would go, and all the rest of us, of course. He said he would 
be very glad to have " one breathing spell without the whole 
crew of us following at his heels." They were to meet at the 
Willows. Miss Montague told him, to prevent you from seeing 
him, to go to the end of the back hall and get out on the roof 
of the kitchen, and to be sure and get down on the west side, 
as the water-barrel stood on the east side. 

Kate Comstoch. So he did. I helped him to get down. He 
did not heed the old adage, " Look before you leap," and just 



THE SUMMER BOARDER. 9 

as he was going to swing himself down I screamed to him to 
wait until I got a chair, or he would land in that sturdy old 
cactus bed. He said he was in a great hurry to get off, as he 
was on an errand of mercy, and was afraid, if he met us all, as 
usual, the pleasure would be so great he might be tempted 
from the path of duty, and forget his promise to collect for 
the Bethel. I told him I had made them the very same 
promise. So he went on his errand of mercy, and I continued 
my search for my thimble, that had fallen out of the window 
into the flower-bed. 

{Enter Miss Peninkton.) 

All (except the Dr.) Well, Miss Peninkton, we have all 
been asking about you ! 

Kate Comstock. We feared you might be ill, or worse still, 
might have quietly folded your tent and stolen away. 

Grace Peninkton. I have had a very pleasant morning, 
floating some beautiful mosses that I have collected from time 
to time. 

Kate Comstock. Now please. Miss Peninkton, do not get out 
your fancy-work until w^e have had some music. You know 
your singing acts like a charm, or an inspiration, and makes 
us feel so much happier the rest of the day. 

Daisy Comstock, the young sister. Oh, yes! do sing "Meet 
Me by the Willows," in remembrance of Mr. Livingston and 
and Dot Montague ; and for the charming of the guests present, 
please sing " Things are Not as they Seem," and " What have 
the Wild Waves been Saying " about me. 

Miss Grace Peninkton. Going pleasantly and quietly to the 
piano, running her fingers over the scales a few times. 

(Enter Frank Livingston and Dot Montague, the dress of Miss 
Montague covered with burrs, and Mr. Livingston's hat on 
the back of her head.) 

AU. WeU! 



10 THE SUMMER BOARDER. 

Dot Monixigue. Oh, we have had a perfectly elegant time ! 
Oh, such fun ! have n't we Frank ? 

Frank Livingston. Well, figuratively speaking, yes. 

Dot Montague. Well, I wanted to get these roses out of 
that briar-bush, and I fell into it. I scratched my hands and 
face some, but I reckon it will wash off; and, we fought a 
hornet's nest (F. Livingston unconsciously raising his [ban- 
daged hand) ; and Frank sat down on the top of an old fence, 
and it broke down, and I reckon it has mashed some of my 
toes (lifting her foot, showing the sole half off her russet 
shoe). Oh, but it was jolly! but I wish you could have seen 
Frank's fight with "Bassett's dog." You know they have a 
sign up, " No trespassing on these premises. Beware of the 
dog !" 

Well, I saw some lovely water-lilies in Bassett's pond — and 
I would just have died if I had not gotten them. I was sure I 
had seen that dog tied to a post as we passed the house ; so I got 
Frank to sneak over, and, just as he bad almost reached them, 
that miserable dog, Hero, came howling along. Oh, I wish 
you could have seen them ! Frank faced, that dog and fought 
him inch by inch on his own ground. Oh, I just danced and 
clapped my hands and screamed, it was so jolly ! 

Rev. Stanhope. How does it happen, if he faced the dog, 
that the wounds are all in the rear ? 

Frank Livingston. She means I was facing the same way 
as the dog. 

Dot Montague. Yes, that 's it. First, it was neck, and then 
it was heels, Frank never once letting that dog get the lead. 

Flossie Wycliffe. Where were you all this time ? 

Dot Montague. I was across the road in that old washer- 
woman's house, holding the door open for Frank to run in. I 
just shut the door in that dog's face, and that sent him home 
ashamed of himself. 

Frank Livingston. Or, that he had n't a larger supply of 
summer clothing to show. 

Kate Comstock. Where is your sailor hat ? 



THE SUMMEB BOARDEB. 11 

Dot Montague. It 's gone sailing with the white-caps. And 
what do you suppose that washerwoman told me old Bassett 
told her? He said, if them '"ere tarnal critters" up at the 
inn did n't stop tramping down his tater patches, he would set 
a foot-rest for them down at the pond, and then that dog of 
his'n could have all the fresh meat he wanted without bemean- 
ing himself following under the butcher's wagon, and only 
getting a smell. 

Flossie Wycliffe. Where are your lilies ? 

Dot Montague. We had n't time to get any then — we did n't 
stop. 

Kate Comstock to Frank Livingston. Perhaps it would have 
been better if you had continued on your errand of mercy, and 
not been led from the path of duty. 

Frank Livingston. Now, Miss Comstock, please be charita- 
ble, and let me down as easily as possible. I am your most 
obedient servant, to do penance as you will suggest. 

Kate Comstock. I would merely suggest, that I would risk 
the water-barrel side every time to the embrace of that old 
cactus-bed. 

Frank Livingston. More still. I '11 tell you what we will 
do; we will join forces and go begging for the Bethel to- 
gether. 

Mrs. Wycliffe. Oh, no, no ! That will necessitate the whole 
crew of us following at your heels. 

Frank Livingston. Well, I will lie down on the old cactus- 
bed, or will jump into the water-barrel — do any thing that you 
will suggest; but, for the present, please accept my flag of 
truce and cease hostilities, so I can retire to the work-room for 
repairs. (Exit Frank Livingston.) 

Kate Comstock (Rev. Dr. Stanhope retiring'). Oh, Dr., I 
want to speak to you before going. I was so glad to hear you 
say this morning that you were fond of driving. We are 
going with a party after lunch, and you must go and handle 
the reins for us. Mamma will be perfectly delighted when 
she hears you are going. I have just sent sister up stairs to 



12 THE SmiMER BOARDER. 

tell her. The tallyho will be at the door at half-past two 
(turning, as if to go). And oh, I almost forgot to tell you; 
quite a number of the guests have promised to go down and 
spend some time visiting the poor who live around the Bethel. 
We shall be ready to start about four o'clock, and I am quite 
sure you would enjoy going with us. 

Rev. Dr. Stanhope. Thank you, thank you. As for the 
tallyho ride, I shall be obliged to forego that pleasure, but you 
may count me in as one of the party to visit the poor and the 
needy. 

Miss Comstock. We also promised to carry something use- 
ful to Mr. and Mrs. McGuire's little family. The ladies have 
all taken a great interest in the children. I think I have 
seen you talking to them, when they have been here in the 
early morning, selling their water-lilies. We will just take 
packages that we can carry in our arms. We told the chil- 
dren this morning that we intended calling, so they will be 
expecting us. 

Bev. Dr. Stanhope. Have no fear that I shall go there 
empty-handed. "The poor ye have always with you," but 
ye must not let the right hand know what the left hand doeth. 

End of Act I. 



THE SUMMER BOAllDEK. 13 



ACT II. 

[Mr. McGuire's Cottage. Oue room, with a door in the cen- 
ter, and one window on each side of it. A high, old-fashioned 
bedstead, with a calico valance around it. Under this is kept 
the children's bed during the day. On the bed, sleeping, are 
a pair of twins, with little woolen shawls wrapped around their 
heads, just as the poorer classes are apt to wrap their children 
up. An old wooden table, with side leaves, standing in the 
middle of the floor. Mrs. McGuire in the act of scrubbing 
it and putting the leaves up, to make as much room as possi- 
ble for the presents.] 

Mr. McGkdre. Betty, and what did the fine ladies at the 
hotel tell the childer about coming here this afternoon, wid 
armsful of fine things for yees and themselves? 

Mrs. McGuire. And is it the messages the grand people 
were sending me this morning ye 's asking about ? And did n't 
they say that every one who would come would bring arms- 
ful of the most beautiful things ye 'd lay your eyes upon ? 

Mr. McGuire. Well, there are a great many things that 
would prove a great blessing — and never be missed by them. 
Sure, any thing they would bring could n't come amiss to us. 

Mr. McGuire. And does ye think that table will hold all 
the things? 

Mrs. McGuire. Here are the two leaves, and there is 
plenty of vacant room in the dresser. I shall take care that 
they will not be obliged to carry any thing back for want of a 
resting-place for it. 

Mr. McGuire. But, Betty, what kind of manners is wid 
ye, when yees havn't either cake nor drink to offer them? 
Havn't I often heard ye tell how the bottle and glass was 
always on the table for all who called in ye's father's house ? 

Betty McGuire. And whose fault is it but yours that we 
hav n't it in our own house ? Indeed, it would be a sorry day 



14 THE SUMMER BOARDER. 

to me parents to have quality treated as they will have to be 
treated here. 

Mr. MeGuire. What's the reason ye can't treat them in 
ilegant style here ? There is your fine bottle ; and give me the 
money, and I will soon have the whisky for yees. 

Mrs. McGuire. And when would yees come back? 

Mr. McGuire. When I'd get the whisky. Ye must have 
been raised mighty mane, to thiuk a man could n't be trusted 
that far. 

Mrs. McGhxire. Well, now, Dennis, if I give you the money 
and that fine bottle, that belonged to me great-uncle, who was 
a colonel in the English army, do you think you could go and 
get back wid it before they could get here. 

Mr. McGuire. Try me ! 

Mrs. McGuire. [Gives him the bottle and the money, get- 
ting the money out of a stocking kept in a pocket in an 
underskirt.] Here is the money, and here is the bottle ; now 
see that yees gets back before the sun goes down. 

Mr. McGuire. Never fear but I'll be back in time. {Exit 
Mr. McGuire.) 

Mrs. McGuire [soliloquizing]. Well, now, I shall get a chance 
to brush up the floor and polish the stove, and have things 
look tidy, as they used to look when I was Betty O'Reef [giv- 
ing her head a little toss], and had lovers at me feet by the 
score [humming a little ditty, and sweeping out at the door, 
and looking up the street]. Well, there goes Dennis with the 
McCarty boys and Pat Kelly. Well, that's the last we will 
see of him to-day ! 

Mrs. McGwire [turning to the children]. And now, children, 
yees must not forget yees good manners for a minute when the 
grand people are here. 

Johnny McGuire. Do you think they will bring me a gun 
and a wheel-barrow ? 

Jerushy McGuire. You can't put a wheel-barrow on the 
table. 



THE SUMMER BOARDER. 15 

Johnny McOuire. Well, there is plenty of room for it un- 
der the table, and I can put all my other presents into it. 

Jerushy McGuire. I want them to bring me a great big 
doll and a sun-shade. 

Mrs. McGuire. Yees must not be dictating to them what 
they must give yees. They know what yees will need a great 
deal better than yourselves can tell them ; and as they give you 
each article, yees must make a bow and a courtesy, thanking 
them each time, always saying. Yes, ma'am, and No, ma'am ; 
Yes, sir, and No, sir, when yees are spoken to. 

Mr. McGuire [returning, with his hat on the side of his 
head]. I am back again. 

Mrs. McGuire. I see you are. 

Mr. McGuire. I came for me coat. I thought as how we 
might — we might have some — weather. 

Mrs. McGuire. And where did you lave the bottle? 

Mr. McGidre. The bottle ! what bottle ? 

Mrs. McGuire. The bottle I gave ye ! did ye break it ? 

Mr. McGuire. Break it? no! What would I break it 
for? 

Mrs. McGuire. Well, then, where did you lave it? 

Mr. McGuire. Lave what ? 

Mrs. McGuire. The bottle. 

Mr. McGuire. The bottle [thinking and brightening up] — 
the whisky ye mane ? 

Mrs. McGidre. I did n't ax ye any thing about the whis- 
ky ; Ilcnow where that is. What did ye do wid the bottle? 

Mr. McGuire. The bottle? Ye doesn't know what yees 
talking about. 

Mrs. McGuire. I do, but yees do n't. 

Children [running in]. They are coming, they are coming, 
and there is about a thousand of them ! 

Mrs. Guire. Holy mother of Moses ! what shall I do with 
yees. Yees will be as drunk as a fool in half an hour. There, 
get in under the bed, on the children's mattress, and do n't let 
us hear a whimper from yees. 



16 THE SUMMER BOARDER. 

[Mr. McGuire crawling under, so that his legs, from the 
knees down, will be from under the bed.] 

Mrs. McGuire. Draw up yees dirty boots, so they will not 
be seen. 

Children [running in again]. There are only three of them 
coming here ; all the others have gone to the station. 

Enter Miss Comstock. Well, Mrs. McGuire, we are all de- 
lighted to get here at last. There are so many little duties, 
both social and personal, to attend to at the hotel, that it is 
just on the eve of our departure that we can do ourselves the 
pleasure of coming down to see you and the children. This is 
my friend, Mrs. Wycliffe, and our dear pastor. Dr. Stanhope. 

Bev. Dr. Stanhope. Happy to meet you, Mrs. McGuire ; I 
hope I find you and your little brood enjoying all God's bless- 
ings. 

Mrs. McGuire [hesitating a moment]. Well, sir; for all 
that we have we try to be duly thankful. 

Rev. Dr. Stanhope. That 's right, that 's right ; that shows 
the true Christian spirit. "Those whom the Lord loveth he 
chasteneth." He says, "Ask, and ye shall receive; seek, and 
ye shall find ; knock, and it shall be opened unto ye." 

Mrs. McGuire. Yes, sir; that is true, but we often find 
when we knock the doors are so deadened that not a sound 
can be heard. 

Rev. Dr. Stanhope. Ah, that is only done to test your 
faith and strength. Knock again, my good woman ; knock 
and knock until the echo vibrates against the blue dome of 
heaven, and you will not only be answered, but will be re- 
paid, as the widow was with her " cruise of oil." Do not be- 
come discouraged. 

Mrs. McGuire. Well, sir; it is worth trying. We have a 
good many mouths to fill. 

Miss Comstock. How many children have you ? 

Mrs. McGuire. Five wid us, and two dead. 

Rev. Dr. Stanhope. Do n't say dead, Mrs. McGuire ; they 



THE SUMMER BOARDER. 17 

have only gone before. They are waiting and watching and 
beckoning for you to come. 

Mrs. McGuire. I wish I could only think so. They are 
dead to us. They were the beautifulest childer ye would wish 
to see. Sure, there was a man passing by one day who took 
pictures, and he came to the door, and says to me, says he : 
" Madam, these be the handsomest childer I ever saw, and if 
yees will let me take their pictures I will give yees one of each, 
and it will not cost yees a cent." Well, I was foolish enough 
to let him take them, and in less than a year they were both 
dead wid scarlet fever, and all we have left of them is the 
pictures. * 

Miss Comstock. Oh, do let us see them, Mrs. McGuire. 

Mrs. McGuire. [Picking up the corner of her apron and 
wiping her eyes, going and opening the bureau drawer to get 
them. Mr, McGuire, from under the bed, commencing to 
snore, startling the guests almost from their seats.] Sure, I 
think one of the twins is choking, [Then running over to 
the bed, and whilst pretending to quiet the twins, kicks un- 
der the bed to wake Mr. McGuire up, and keep him quiet. 
Mr. McGuire, waking up, stretches his legs out from under 
the bed. The little boy runs and tries to push them back. 
He gives a push and knocks him over. He commences to 
cry, and his mother runs and picks him up, trying to soothe 
him. Mr. McGuire picks up the valance and looks out. He 
then crawls out, and while doing so, Mrs. McGuire apologizes, 
by saying that Mr. McGuire had been out all morning, mend- 
ing the senator's fences, and, when he came in, had lain down 
on the childer's bed to rest, as the twins were sleeping in his 
bed. 

Rev. Dr. Stanhope [getting up and shaking hands with Mr. 
McGuire]. So, this is Mr. McGuire. 

Mr. McGuire. Yis, sir ; Dennis; Dennis McGuire. 

Rev. Dr. Stanhope. Well, Mr. McGuire, I am very happy 
to meet you ; I hope I find you well. 



18 THE SUMMER BOARDER. 

Mr. McChdre. Yis, sir; from fair to middling. I can't 
always be complaining. 

Bev. Dr. Stanhope. No ; that is true ; it is our duty to 
always try to cultivate a cheerful, happy disposition, and 
be reconciled with the benefits bestowed by an unseen hand. 
There is no cloud that has not a silver lining. But, I pre. 
surae, Mr. McGuire, you are in active business. 

3Ir. McOuire [thinking a moment]. Whin I can git in, 
your riverence, I am. 

Eev. Dr. Stanhope. That is the only way to keep the mind 
and body in a healthy condition. We must keep them em- 
ployed. 

Mr. McGuire. A gintleman told me yisterday, if I would 
go to the mill, at the head of the creek, I would get all the 
work I -wanted. 

Mrs. McGuire. And be his own boss. 

Mr. McGuire. Yis, sir; and be me own boss ; but whin I 
got to the creek, divil a mill nor creek was there. After such 
a disappointment it was pretty hard to keep me spirits up [Mrs. 
McGuire nodding her head, as if she thought he had a very 
easy way of keeping his spirits up by pouring spirits down]. 

Mrs. Wycliffe. Did you have to walk all the way? Were 
there no electric or cable cars near? or even a herdic would 
have been of some use. 

Mr. McGuire. Nary a one could I see. 

Mrs. Wycliffe. Well, that was too bad — that was very dis- 
couraging. 

Rev. Dr. Stanhope. How many children did you say you 
have ? 

Mrs. McGuire. I say only five ; your riverence says we must 
say seven. 

Mr. McGuire. Sure, it is only five that we have, barring 
two that is dead ; see, there Dennis is one, the twins is two, 
Johnnie is three, and Jerushy is four — sure, there is five of 
them ; Johnnie is one, the twins is two, Jerushy is three, and 



THE SUMMER BOARDER. 19 

Deunis four — well, did ye'es ever see the likes of that ! Johnnie is 
one — 

Mrs. McQuire [tapping the side of her head and looking 
anxiously at her husband and then at her guests]. Ah, sure, 
he has never been right since he got into them politics. 

Mr. MaGuire [brightening up]. Ah! and thim was the 
ilegant times intirely. 

Mrs. McGuire. And how much did you see of them? 
[Then turning to her guests.] You see, they came to me 
and said they wanted Dennis to come and help them make 
this man Tompkins mayor ; and if he were elected, he would 
put Dennis on the perlice. It came pretty hard on us to part 
wid all the little bit of money we had saved up, as they told 
us they would need it to buy up some votes for Dennis to get 
on the force. Well, when he was starting out to the first 
night's meeting, he came back to the door and says he to me, 
says he: "And Betty, won't ye'es be proud of your Dennis 
whin ye'es sees him coming home wid his pockets full of rocks 
and his coat covered wid gold stars f" [Mr. McGuire straighten- 
ing up and rubbing his hands over his breast.] Yes, Dennis, 
says I, its meself that will be proud of ye'es. Well, after I 
had got me chores done up and the twins to sleep, I thought 
I would just step over to Mrs. McGroity's for a few minutes, 
and just give her an inkling of what 1 intended to do when Mr. 
McGuire ivas on the peiiice. Well, I had hardly gotten 
through telling her when the people on the street came run- 
ning in, screaming at the top of their voices: "Oh, Mrs. 
McGuire ! they are bringing Dennis home on a shutter ; he is 
kilt intirely !" And sure enough, there he was, laid out as 
dead as a mackerel. Well, we nursed him through, and as 
soon as he was better they were after him again ; they said as 
how he was a hustler and they must have him. 

Mr. McGuire. You see, what they meant by that is, ye 
knows that I have been raised on the shipping-boats and me 
father before me ; so they just wanted me to be down on the 
wharf on election day, and invite the men on all the vessels 



20 THE SUMMER BOARDER. 

that would stop there that day to come up to the polls and 
vote, and to be sure and not slight any of the men on any 
strange vessel that would come into port for coal or provisions, 
but just to invite and hustle them up, and the men at the 
voting place would make it very pleasant for them ; and that's 
why they called me an hustler. 

Mrs. McGuire. Well, I do n't think he was out at the next 
meeting more than an hour, when they came running in, 
calling to me: "Oh! oh! Mrs. McGuire, they are bringing 
Dennis home again on a shutter !" And there he was, sure 
enough, the two eyes of him looking like peeled onions, and 
the best half of his nose in the doctor's hand. 

31rs. Wydiffe. How did you get such an awful blow ? 

Mr. McGuire. I don't know, ma'am. I think it came 
from a nor'-nor'-easternly direction. 

Mrs. McGuire. The man Tompkins, who was running for 
mayor, got beaten ; and that was not all — a big mortgage was 
placed on his little home to help pay his debts ; and sure, all 
the roclcs and gold stars Dennis ever saw was the pile he fell 
over. 

Rev. Dr. Stanhope. Well, my good man ; no doubt it was 
the best thing that ever happened to you that you were de- 
feated. There are a great many dangers and pit-falls to 
guard against in the life of a policeman. It is not always 
sunshine and slumbers with them. 

Mr. McGuire. That's so, your rivirence; but then that 
would n't frighten me. 

Miss Comstock. Now come, we must be going, as we want 
to make one or two more calls, and itMs getting quite late. 
So, Mrs. McGuire, I have brought you a shoe-bag, to hang 
up on the wall, and have the children keep their slippers in 
it (the children having no shoes). When they come in from 
their walk, and take their walking-boots off, it is so convenient 
for them to have a place for their slippers ; it teaches them to 
be methodical and orderly. 

Mrs. Wydiffe. And I have brought you a very pretty lamp 



THE SUMMER BOARDER. 21 

shade. You will find it very useful, particularly, when you 
are all sitting reading around the table, it will not only shade 
your eyes from the strong glare of light, but also throw a soft, 
pleasant light all around. I got the brightest colors I could 
find, as I thought that would please the children. 

Jerushy. We hain't got no lamp. [An old tin candle- 
stick, with half burnt candle, on mantel.] 

Mrs. Wydiffe. Oh my ; that is unfortunate. Well, then, 
you will have to get one ; and, be sure in getting it and 
the frame, to get the largest size, as you see, this is quite 
a large lamp shade. You will find it very useful as well as 
ornamental. 

Rev. Dr. Stanhope. Before starting from home, by request 
of some of my, in fact all of my parishioners, I had some of 
my sermons printed, and brought them with me, with the 
intention of distributing them around amongst the worthy 
people, whom I should meet during my summer vacation ; 
and, in that way, I could spread the gospel amongst God's 
chosen people, without money and without price, to them. 
Mr. McGuire, when you have come in from your daily labors, 
you will find not only strength and rest for the mind in taking 
up one of these tracts and reading it, but rest and strength for 
the body also. It will put new life into you. I sincerely 
hope the contents will strike in and take root, and result in a 
good and full harvest. 

Mr. McGuire [looking disappointed, and holding the tracts 
upside down, as he can not read]. Well, I hope they will, 
your rivirence. [Jerushy, standing beside her father, turns 
the tracts the right way.] 

Jerushy. That's the way to hold them, father. 

Jfrs. McGuire [pretendiug to understand]. Yis, so it is. 

Miss Comstock. Mrs. McGuire, where does Mrs. McGroity 
live? we promised her children, when they brought the water- 
lilies to the hotel this morning, that we would call upon them 
also. 

Mrs. McGuire. Well, I will just put on me bonnet [put- 



22 THE SUMMER BOARDER. 

ting on a sun-bonnet] and go wid ye'es. She sometimes for- 
gets herself, and imagines she is a step above buttermilk. 
And as we have known the bog-trotters for generation after 
generation of them, I'll be able to keep her in her place. 
[_Exit all.] 

Mr. McGuire. [Examining the presents.] 

Jerushy. Father, where are my slippers ? See if you can 
find them. 

Mr. McGuire. I don't see them. 

Jerushy. Feel way down in the bag — mab-by they got 
stuck. 

Mr. McGuire. That's good ; that's it ; yes. I guess they 
got sluch — got stuck to the last — and they hav n't pulled them 
off yet. Yes, yes ; they got stuck. 

[Under a sudden impulse, Mr. McGuire picks up the pres- 
ents, and, running to the stove, throws them into the fire; 
then hits the stove-pipe, knocking it down, and commences 
playing havoc with every thing.] 

Jerushy. Run, Johnnie, for mother; and tell her father 
has another of his spells. 

[Just then Mrs. McCarty passes the window, looks in, and 
goes and tells Mrs. McGuire.] 

{Return of Mrs. McGuire.) 

Mrs. McGuire. Its a pretty fool ye'es making of ye-self. 
Mrs. McCarty stopped, and, before the whole company, called 
out to me that ye'es were either getting religion or breaking 
up housekeeping, and that I would be a great deal better at 
home looking after me house and childer than setting meself 
up wid the grand folks at the hotel. 

Mr. McGuire [dancing around]. His riVrence said he hoped 
it would strike in; but it is striking out — hop-tra-la ; it is strik- 
ing out ! 

[Just then Mr. McGuire sees Mrs. McCarty passing the 
window again. He runs over and shuts the door in her face. 



THE SUMMER BOAEDER. 23 

Mrs. McCarty goes to the window and commences grinning 
and laughing at him.] 

Mr. McGuire to Mrs. McCarty. If ye's will act civil, and 
pass the compliments of the day, I'll open the door and let 
ye's come in. 

(^Tableau.') 

[Mr. McGuire bowing and scraping to Mrs. McCarty ; Mrs. 
McGuire sinks into a chair and puts her apron to her face ; 
little Johnnie leans his head on his mother's shoulder, and 
Jerusha stands looking wistfully at the stove and the burnt 
presents.] 

End of Act II. 



24 THE SUMMER BOARDER. 

ACT III. 

Evening Scene. 

[Full moon upon the water ; the vessels anchored in the 
harbor lighted up with colored lights ; the guests of the hotel 
flitting about through the parlor and out on the piazza ; the 
ladies in their cool pink, white, blue, lavender and lace dresses, 
and the yachtsmen from the yachts lounging on the piazza, 
dressed in their uniforms.] 

{Enter Miss Comstock, going over to the table in the center of the 
parlor, and removing the books and papers from it.) 

Kate Comstock. Now, come ; who all are going to play 
cards — six handed euchre ? 

Dot Montague. I would love to play, if I knew how. Papa 
said he hoped whilst I was away some smart Northener would 
make a martyr of himself and try and see if he could teach 
me ; he has given it up as an impossibility. 

Rev. Dr. Stanhope. Permit me to be that martyr, Miss 
Montague ; I shall take great pleasure in trying to teach you. 
Perhaps your father is too impatient with you. 

Kate Comstock. We had better give the task to Mr. Liv- 
ingston. Perhaps it will be punishment enough for his in- 
discretions and misrepresentations of this morning. 

Frank Livingston. It would certainly be a very pleasant 
punishment, and one much easier to bear than Miss Comstock's 
stabs and reminders of my shortcomings. 

[After they are all seated around the table, and the dealer 
has commenced to deal the cards around, Kate Comstock says: 
Now please wait just a moment until I see if my dear invalid 
mamma is in need of any attention.] 

Rev. Dr. Stanhope [throwing himself back in his chair, aud 
throwing his cards down]. If there is any thing that upsets 
my nervous system it is these chronic grumblers; they lead such 



THE SUMMER BOARDER. 25 

au idle life physically that their brains are over-taxed, and of 
course the result is all kinds of hallucinations. They can not 
breathe God's fresh air ; they can not partake of mother- 
earth's generosity ; in her abundance of fruits and vegetables, 
the treasures of the seas, they shudder at as indigestible [jerk- 
ing himself around]. If I had my way with them, to show 
them how well off they were, I would sample, label and ship 
them direct to — Hades. 

Frank Livingston. You will have to enter them, then, at 
Oiicago ; all roads center there. 

Miss Gomstock [returning]. What's trumps ? Clubs ? All 
right. ■; 

Mrs. Wyeliffe. Continuing our conversation about the treas- 
ures of the sea, Dr., I was compelled to tell the landlord that 
I was not quite ready to be turned into a mermaid. I told 
him I was very fond of fish sixty or seventy times in succes- 
sion, but I did not like it as a steady diet. If he expects 
Flossie and me to remain, we must have our beefsteak and 
roast-beef daily. 

Rev. Dr. Stanhope. Well, that is singular. I informed 
him yesterday that I had not traveled over a thousand miles 
to the sea-shore to be fed on meat, both fresh and dried ; I 
had come for salt-water fish, and I expect to be daily supplied 
with it. 

Kate Comstock. Why did you play that ace ? 

Dot Montague. Papa always said an ace was as good as a 
trump any day. 

Mrs. Wyeliffe. But your partner took that trick with his 
right bower. 

Dot Montague. Bowers ; what are bowers ? 

Kate Comstock. Why, that is a bower — the right bower of 
clubs — it will take all the cards in the pack. 

Dot Montague. Well, I will try to remember that. 

Frank Livingston. Speaking of our rations ; the only thing 
I hanker after is a good old-fashioned cup of coffee. I am 
very tired of sampling beans. 



26 THE SUMMER BOARDER. 

Kate Comstoclc. Mamma was saying to-day that she was bo 
glad we were going to-morrow, as she is so heartily tired of 
canned fruit and vegetables. I wonder why we have so much 
of it. 

Rev. Dr. Stanhope. That is very easily explained. The 
manufacturers unload their surplus winter stock of canned 
fruit and vegetables on the summer hotel keepers at a very 
great discount. So, you see, we poor mortals have to be the 
sufferers ; we have to take the refuse. Every thing is done 
nowadays to gouge the people, and give them as little as pos- 
sible for their money ; and also a way for the manufacturers 
to get rid of their stale goods. 

Dot Montague. I believe even the chickens have caught 
the fever, for there is n't an old hen along the coast that has 
laid a fresh egg this summer ; or, if so, it has not been my lot 
to get it. 

Mrs. Wycliffe. Why did you play that card when the trick 
belongs to your partner ? 

Dot Afontague. Because I have heard papa say, when you 
are in doubt, always to trump, and I am most assuredly in 
doubt now. 

Kate Comstoclc [to her young sister]. Dearie, wont you run 
up stairs and see if mamma is comfortable. 

Daisy Comstoclc [ill-naturedly]. Always the way; just when 
I get to the most interesting part of the story I am ordered to 
do something. 

Kate Comstoclc. Oh, no, dearie ; I did not order you, I bnly 
asked you if you would see if mamma were comfortable. I 
left her sitting in her easy chair in the hall, at the head of the 
stairs. She may be tired, and wishes to retire. Will you 
go, or shall I ? 

Daisy Comstoclc [ill-naturedly]. Oh, I shall go, of course. 

Dot Montague. There, that is my trick. 

Mrs. Wycliffe. Why no ; you played the jach of clubs, and 
hearts are trumps. 

Dot Montague. A few moments ago you told me that was a 



THE SUMMER BOARDER. 27 

bower, and would take every thing in the pack, and that is 
the identical card, too. 

Mrs. WycUffe. That was when clubs were trumps, but now 
that is one of the lowest-faced cards in the pack ; it is simply 
• the jack of clubs. 

Dot Montague. Well, there are turn-coats in cards, as well 
as in religion and politics. A little while ago that was a rosy- 
hued bower, but now it has degenerated ioto a plain, simple, 
unadorned "Jack without the Jill," at the bottom of the pack. 
I am very glad I never took to gambling ; I do n't think it 
is my vocation. 

Frank Livingston. You do not seem to take to it naturally ; 
it has to be hammered in, as it were ; and sometimes a clvh is 
found that can not do that. 

Flossie WycUffe. Speaking of clubs, there was a lady on 
the piazza yesterday morning wishing for a club that she could 
club the clerk of the weather with. She had two unfinished 
sunshine pictures, and she was going home on the noon train, 
and you all know the rain was just pouring down in torrents 
at that time. We all felt so sorry for her. Some one tried 
to cheer her up by saying they thought it was a very good 
day for water-colors. 

Rev. Dr. Stanhope. Why didn't she work in a little oil on 
the troubled waters ? 

Flossie WycUffe. She could n't ; she was working in pastels. 

Daisy Comstock [returning]. Mamma was not comfortable, 
and has retired. She says she got tired listening to the click 
of the cards, and what Mr. Stanhope would do with "chronic 
grumblers;" but she wants to have some music, she says. 
Miss Peninkton's singing soothes her nerves and puts her to 
sleep. 

Dot Montague. Well, let's please ourselves by pleasing 
the dear old lady. I am heartily tired of this stupid, up-hill 
work. Let's have some music; it will soothe my nerves, too. 

Daisy Comstock [going to the outside door and returning]. 
Oh, Doctor! there is a "runaway couple" at the door, who 



28 THE SUMMER BOARDER. 

want to know if there is a minister here who will marry them. 
They are awfully green-looking. I know he has his grand- 
father's coat on. 

Kate Gomstock. Oh, yes; do bring them in here. We 
will clear away every thing, and be the witnesses, too. 

Flossie Wycliffe. I will get the bucket of rice, and Dot 
will loan us her old shoe. 

Dot Montague [gathering up the cloth and cards]. And 
what part of the work are you going to do ? 

Frank Livingston. I ? I am going to kiss the bride — if 
she is good-looking. 

Dot Montague. I wish I were the bride. 

Frank Livingston. You do, do you ? [chasing her out]. 

Rev. Dr. Stanhope [going out and bringing the bridal party 
in]. Step this way, if you please. Now join hands. [The 
groom, in his awkwardness, dropping one of his gloves.] 
What is your name ? 

The Bride [a fast talker]. Just now, my name is Mariar 
Sophiar Pearson Stebbins. I am named after my two grand- 
mothers, Mariar Pearson and Sophiar Stebbins. Just before 
the minister baptized me, mother got in the Pearson. It just 
struck her that I would have two names of my grandmother 
on my father's side and only one on hern, so she just slipped 
the name in. Oh, father was tearing mad when he got home 
from church. He said he hoped she would n't have as tight a 
squeeze as that to get into heaven; and she said "she hoped 
she woiddn't." 

Rev. Dr. Stanhope. One name is sufficieait. And what is 
your name? 

Groom. Adonis. 

Bride. Donny isn't named afternobody bat hisself; that's 
what galls mother so. She says it seems as if he never had 
any grandfathers — just growed up, like that nigger. 

Rev. Dr. Stanhope. Now, if you please, repeat after me, 
" I, Adonis, take thee, Maria." 

Qroom. I, Adonis, take thee, Mariar. 



THE SUMMER BOARDER. 29 

Bev. Dr. Stanhope. To be my wedded wife. 

Groom. To be my wedded wife. 

Bev. Dr. Stanhope. To " have and to hold " — 

[The bride commencing to snicker, and the groom, when the 
idea strikes him, commencing to snicker, too.] 

Bev. Dr. Stanhope. Why, my young friends, what do you 
mean by this levity ? You do not seem to realize the great 
responsibility you are taking upon yourselves this evening. 
What is the cause of all this laughter ? 

Bride. Wh}^, parson, he has been " a'having and alwlding" 
of me all winter. 

Bev. Dr. Stanhope [impatiently]. I pronounce you "hus- 
band and wife." 

Bride [looking surprised]. Why! are we married a'ready? 

Bev. Dr. Stanhope. Yes, yes. 

Bride. It took three times as long as that to marry Jonah 
Blatson and Polly Tompkins ; but Jonah always was a slip- 
pery fellow ; and I suppose Parson Simpson wanted to tie the 
knot as hard as he could ; and that did n't hold but three 
months, for he fell from the rigging of his ship — and I guess 
he is a Jonah now, for sure. 

Bev. Dr. Stanhope. I believe I have the privilege of claim- 
ing a kiss. [Kisses the bride.] 

Bride. Dounie, you had better take one now, for when we 
get home, that's not the kind of a salute we'll get from 
mother ; we will have any thing from the potato-masher to 
pap's Sunday -beaver shied at us. Even the old cat won't 
escape, if she comes in her way ; then's when pap says she is 
making the fur fly. 

[The groom kisses the bride, and in his awkwardness and 
confusion wipes the kiss off on his coat-sleeve.] 

Bride [ill-naturedly, pulling him by the coat-sleeve on their 
way out, and exclaiming]. You didn't wipe them off that 
way at home. You swallowed them down as fast as you 
could scoop them off, and looked hungry for more. 

Frank Livingston [as they are going out, lifts his hands, as 



30 OUR SUMMER BOARDER. 

if blessing them]. And in the language of our old friend, 
Rip, " May they live long and prosper." 

And may all their cares be little ones [from the gouty old 
gentleman at the ^vhist table]. 

Dot Montague. I thought you were going to kiss the 
bride ? 

Frank Livingston. Not after seeing it so gracefully done by 
two such Eomeos as the doctor and groom. I have made the 
discovery that Jam still a mere novice at that business. 

[Rev. Dr. Stanhope returns from seeing the bridal party to 
the door.] 

Mrs. Wycliffe. There, doctor [pointing to the glove left 
on the floor], I suppose that is your marriage fee. 

Bev. Dr. Stanhope. Do n't disturb it, just let it lie there ; 
as soon as he misses it he will be back ; there is no danger, in 
a chap of his caliber, leaving such a handful of a fee as that; 
he expects that whole suit to do service for two or three gen- 
erations yet to come. He is under the impre — 

Groom [returning, his boots covered with dust]. I was 
skeert ; I feer'd I had lost it. [Hurrying out.] 

Kate Comstock. Now, do let us have some music ; mamma 
will be so impatient. 

Mrs. Wycliffe [rising]. Flossie and I have not finished our 
packing, so I will have to bid you all good night. 

[Rev. Dr. Stanhope starting to leave the room, too.] 

Kate Comstock. Oh, doctor, Mrs. Wycliffe was saying to- 
day, that they intended visiting the museum when they arrived 
at New York, and as there will be no train going West until 
evening it would be so delightful for us all to go together. 

Rev. Dr. Stanhope. Much as I would enjoy such an oppor- 
tunity, still, my time is so limited, that it would be utterly 
out of the question for me to accept your kind invitation. 

Kate Comstock,. But just think how you would enjoy your- 
self with such nice company — and we all separate to-morrow ; 
perhaps forever. Now, won't you promise me you wnll try 
and arrange to be with us ; it will afford us so much pleasure. 



OUR SUMMER BOARDER. 31 

Rev. Dr. Stanhope. The pleasure it would afford you is 
not to be compared to the pleasure and instruction it would 
be to me. 

Kate Comstock. Well, you will see us to the museum, any 
how ? 

Eev. Dr. Stanhope. I hope my time will not be so limited 
that I can not do that. In this case it must be bicsiness before 
pleasure. Good night. 

Daisy Comstock. Like a drowning man, hanging to the last 
straw, the doctor is too smart a man to go dragging around 
at a museum, with five or six women, and all their boxes, 
band-boxes, parrots and poodles. 

Kate Comstock. Well, he didn't say he wouldn't go. If I 
can get him to go to the door with us, it is all I ask. I can 
then say he went to the museum with us ; it is nobody's busi- 
ness how long he staid. 

Daisy Comstock [rising to go]. Are you going to bed now ? 
You know we have some packing to do. 

Kate Comstock. I shall be up presently ; don't wait for me. 

Kate Comstock [soliloquizing]. I must have something of 
that summer boarder to take home with me as a remembrance, 
she may be some noted person ; she looks wise enough to be 
almost any thing. An empty spool would be something. Here, 
I will look at her music. Let me see : The compliments of 
C. B. — that's near enough for summer boarder ; I'll take this; 
it didn't cost her any thing. So, ta-ta, my mocking-bird, 
ta-ta. 

[Summer boarder entering from the other side of the room 
to gather up the music hears Miss Comstock soliloquizing.] 

End of Act ILL 



32 THE SUMMER BOARDER. 

ACT IV. 

Morning Scene. 

[All dressed in their traveling suits, with satchels, umbrellas, 
etc. J etc.] 

(Enter Mrs. Wycliffe.') 

Kate Comstock. Oh, Mrs. "Wycliffe, Dr. Stanhope told me 
last evening he would be perfectly delighted to go with us to 
the Museum when we arrive in New York. He also said he 
would be the greatest loser, not only in pleasure, but by in- 
struction, if any unforeseen accident should happen to pre- 
vent him from joining us. 

Mrs. Wyclife. Oh, that will be charming ; that will be an 
unexpected pleasure, indeed. I have just been in Mrs. 
Smith's room asking her to go down with some little present 
to Mrs. McGuire's this afternoon. 

(Enter Dr. Stanhope.') 

Flossie Wycliffe. What did you give them yesterday, 
mamma ? 

Mrs. Wycliffe. I gave them a very beautiful lamp-shade. 

Flossie Wycliffe. The one father's Aunt Sarah made and 
sent you ? 

Mrs. Wycliffe. Yes, my dear. 

Flossie Wycliffe. Well, that was a very charitable way of 
getting rid of it. 

31rs. Wycliffe. I was not trying to get rid of it, my dear. 
I placed it where I thought it would do the most good. 

Flossie Wycliffe. I remember hearing you tell father there 
could be a superabundance of generosity even in the size of 
a lamp-shade. Father's excuse to you was, that Aunt Sarah's 
heart was so large that it would be impossible for her to stint 
any thing she had undertaken. Well, what did you give 
them, Miss Comstock? 



THE SUMMER BOARDER. 33 

Kate Gomstoek. I gave them a very useful shoe-bag, and I 
wish you could have seen how delighted they were, particu- 
larly the little girl. She, at a glance, seemed to take in its 
usefulness. I have spent most of this morning going around 
to the different ladies, asking them to go down and visit these 
poor people, and quite a number have promised to go this 
afternoon. I told Mrs. McGuire I would invite them. 

Franlc Livingston. And what will these poor people do 
with shoe-bag and lamp-shades, and illuminated calendars? 

Rev. Dr. Stanhope. Mr. McGuire seemed very much af- 
fected when I gave him my sermons, and hardly took his eyes 
from them during the remainder of our visit. 

Frank Livingston. Perhaps he was near-sighted, or could 
not read. 

Rev. Dr. Stanhope. Oh, no ; that could not be. He struck 
me as a man who had seen better days, but had met with so 
many misfortunes that he had become discouraged. 

(Enter Jerushy AfcGkiire.) 

Jerushy McGuire [going up to Miss Comstock]. Mother 
says, will you please tell the ladies not to come down to our 
house to-day, as one of the twins has caught the malaria, and 
she thinks the other has the hy-dro-pho-bia, the way he harked 
all night. 

Kate Comstock. Tell your mother the ladies will be very 
much disappointed, as quite a number were going down. 

Jenishy McGuire [going out]. Yes, ma'am ; mother will be 
disappointed too. 

Kate Comstock. Well, they certainly do have their troubles. 

Mrs. Wycliffe. Miss Montague, do you intend to go directly 
home after leaving New York ? 

Dot Montague. I shall take in Baltimore and Washington 
on my way. 

Mrs. Wycliffe. I suppose a good old-fashioned welcome is 
awaiting you in your Southern home — a barbecue, I believe, 
they call it there 



34 THE SUMMER BOARDER. 

Dot Montague. As warm as any welcome can be in a home 
without a mother. I presume it will be a repetition of last 
year, after being up North four years to school. Papa's wel- 
come was: "Well, Dot, are you glad to get home again? I 
am glad to see you. We have named a young colt after 
you — ' Dot Montague ' — and it ts a beauty." But, dear old 
Black Mammy, the only mother I ever knew, and a creat- 
ure who has never been far enough from home to see a rail- 
road train. As she always said, " Dem Yankee soldiers told 
her if dey ever kotched her outside the plantation dey would 
kidnap and send her up North, and have gum-shoes made out 
of her." They told her that was the way they got all their 
gum from the South. The day of my arrival, what an event 
it was for her. She mussed up three or four of her choice 
turbans telling the darkies that she was so flustrated she dis- 
remembered which color missus tole her she liked the best. 
Many times during the day she would go out on the piazza, 
and shading her dear old eyes, would say: " Maybe Massa 
William has made a mistake, and dat train may get in an hour 
or two sooner ; for she knowed dat young missus war hungry 
for some of her crullers, and would tell dem men to hurry 
up." And when I did come, taking me in her arms, and with 
tears streaming down her furrowed cheeks, thanked the Lord 
for letting one of her ewe lambs come back to her old arms and 
yearning heart again ; and, between sobs, told me of her prom- 
ise to my dear mother, " Yes, honey ; ole missus call me and 
said : ' Chloe, the summons has come, and I must go; you must 
take her, and be a mother to her. And when she has been 
away from home, and returns, hold her close, so close to your 
heart, for me.' " After I had retired she stole softly into my 
room, and kneeling by my bed-side, thanked the good Lord 
that Massa William had only one of her dear misses to lock out 
to-night. "And honey," said she, "when I would liear the bolts 
a rasping, and some of them refusing to move, I knowed dey 
knowed what dey war doing ; and so, when all de house war 
still and quiet, ole mammy would slip down and unbolt dat 



THE SUMMER BOARDER. 35 

little door dat opens into the jessamine bower, where I 
took care of old missus and you so many summer days. 
Well, dat door, honey, war always open for you both. 
And I knowed ole missus would come in, cause when ole 
mammy would come back to her lonely room, pears like 
some one lifted the heavy cross from dese ole shoulders, and 
putting dere soft warm arms around my neck, whispered in 
dese ole ears, " Lean upon me, Chloe,-I'se strong now." And 
when I would sit by your window, dem long, slender fingers 
of dat honey-suckle vine would come tapping, tapping on the 
panes, and say, just as plain as if dey war little tongues, 
"Dot, Dot," and I knowed dey war little love taps, and dey 
war longing for you, too. And then bidding me good night, 
and placing the chair with the pillows on it by my bedside, 
for I am still a child to her, tottered out of the room, mutter- 
ing to herself, " Old mammy sleep sound dis night, sure." 

[Enter Miss Peninkton equipped for a journey.] 

All. "Why ! you are not going to leave to-day, are you ? 

Grace Peninkton. Yes, it is not necessary for me to remain 
any longer. I am a reporter for the "Associated Press," and 
have been collecting material this summer for a play for one 
of their papers. 

Kate Comstoch [nervously]. Well, I hope you will find 

where you are going, all the nice clever people you want, 

for your characters. 

• Grace Peninkton. No doubt, I shall. And thanks to the 
doctor, I shall call it "The Summer Boarder." Good-bye, 
and pleasant journey to all. 

Rev. Dr. Stanhope. Perhaps, we shall find, to our sorrow, 
that the pen is mightier and sharper than the sword or tongue. 

Dot Montague. If she makes Bassett's dog the hero, Mr. 
Livingston will have to be the heroine — it. 

Frank Livingston. I don't think I could stand another 
tussel with that dog, even in the role of ^^ heroine." 

Daisy Comstock [hurrying into the parlor]. Come, all; the 
ferr^s nearly over. And mamma suggests that we ask Mr. 



36 THE SUMMER BOARDER. 

Livingston to assist us with our baggage, as she fears Dr. 
Stanhope is so enthusiastic over his hobby that he might 
"sample, label, and check us all off to his warm summer 
resort for chronic grumblers." 



NOTES. 



No. 1. Miss Grace Peninkton always takes her seat by the 
parlor window with her fancy-work. In that position she can 
see the parlor, piazza, and beach, and can see every thing that 
is going on. 

No. 2. Mr. McGuire is not a confirmed drunkard — he some- 
times takes a drop too much when he is with friends — and at 
other times to drown his sorrows. In the play his wife is 
afraid he will be very drunk, but his friends got most of the 
whisky. He only got enough to make him feel a little 
lively. 

No. 3. Frank Livingston and Dot Montague will make 
a sorry looking pair as they return in their dilapidated condi- 
tion from their picnic. Mr. Livingston is hatless, his hand 
tied up in his handkerchief, and the back of his coat hanging 
in ribbons from the tussel with the dog. Miss Montague has 
lost her hat ; she is limping ; on her face and hands are long 
red scratches from the briar-bush, and her dress is full of burrs 
and nettles. 



